


Laurelworth

by motiveandthemeans



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Multi, Sherlolly - Freeform, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Warstan, mythea, victorian!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motiveandthemeans/pseuds/motiveandthemeans
Summary: “I love you, most ardently.”’





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Victorian!lock if you’re interested :)
> 
> RATING WILL CHANGE...but not for several chapters yet ;)

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning, husband?” She asked. 

“No murders to solve.” Sherlock shrugged casually. 

“Really? Wouldn’t you much rather be experimenting?”

“My agar plates are still fermenting. Mrs. Hudson threw out the rest.” 

She laughed, a musical litany he’d not heard in so long. “To be fair, Mrs. Hudson did warn you the next time you used her biscuits for scientific research she’d throw them out.” 

They were silent for a moment, this room in his Mind Palace was so undeveloped. It was built upon a memory, their unconsummated wedding night. She wore a white linen chemise, her dark curls were finally free of that torturous updo; hot tea was steaming on the table in front of the fire where she sat reading a thick medical text. The flames reflected against the gold of her newly acquired wedding band.

“John and Mary are expecting.” He commented. 

“How wonderful!” His wife exclaimed. “Is that what has prompted this unexpected surprise to my room in your Mind Palace?”

“Not entirely, I wanted to see how you were.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, I am but a figment of your mind’s interpretation of your actual wife. Why not send one of those letters you stay up writing, asking after my well being? You’ve been writing them for months, several if I recall.” 

The Consulting Detective sighed, leaning against the mantle, gazing into the warm flames. 

“I did not think you would appreciate such an intrusion into your life. I have not seen you since Christmas; it was my impression that upon your leaving London for Laurelworth, communication outside of the necessary would be…superfluous.” 

“Has this arrangement affected your work?” 

“No, in fact, I’ve never been more productive in my entire career. My life has been as I always hoped it would be; free from the constraints of social norms, virtually untethered to the obligations of a conventional marriage. For all intents and purposes, I live the solitary existence I have always craved. With the exception of John, of course…a case could be made for Mycroft, I suppose.”

“Then why the sudden desire to see me of all people?” She inquired, rising from the arm chair to stand in front of him, the fire illuminated her womanly figure through the thin material of her chemise. 

“It was something…something John said.” 

“Pray tell, what did Doctor Watson say?” 

“He said that the thrill of a case, the excitement of catching criminals, is nothing compared to the feeling of seeing your wife at the end of the day…and knowing that you are home.” 

They were quiet for several moments before Sherlock broke the silence once again, his voice heavy with remorse. 

“Molly, I think I have made a grave miscalculation. Perhaps…perhaps all along I’ve been assuming that affection is a chemical defect, a hindrance preventing humanity from seeing the world as it is- not as it should be. But now I am wondering if maybe love isn’t the question, it’s the answer.” 

“What do you need, Sherlock?” Mind Palace Molly asked, tenderly running her fingers across his clean shaven face. 

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want me?” 

“What do you need?” She repeated in a whisper, her brown eyes gazing knowingly into his. 

“You. Only you. Always you.” 

“Then come and get me, Husband. I’ve been waiting.”


	2. Mrs. Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the always amazing glitterkitty4ever and deemura for your constant support! 
> 
> Also feel free to stop by my tumblr!

Margaret Louise Holmes (nee Hooper), known as Mrs. Holmes, Mistress, Missus ‘olmes, Missus Molly, Doctor Holmes, Doctor Molly, or just Molly, woke to early spring mist clouding the large, frost-tinged window adjacent her bed in her room at Laurelworth Manor. 

The room was quite large and one of her favorite in the entire 13,000 square foot house. Complete with a lovely window seat overlooking an ancient oak tree and side yard, a large fireplace (currently nearing embers), an impressive closet for her everyday clothes and shoes, a wardrobe for her finer things and a vanity. Several book shelves lined the walls littered with books, pictures and knick-knacks, a sitting area and a beautiful marble tiled en suite; she really could not ask for more. Her large canopy bed served as the loveliest of escapes from real life and each night she looked forward to her feather mattress. 

A little over a year ago, Molly had come to Laurelworth seeking refuge and had not returned to London since. The 23 room manor upon a 10,000 acre estate was a wedding gift from her brother-in-law, Lord Mycroft Holmes. The estate was a three hour carriage ride from London, it contained two lakes and a large pond, 16 orchards and grew (that they knew of) 59 varieties of plants. Surrounded by mountains, Laurelworth Manor itself was at an elevation of 1,400 meters. The sweeping landscape never ceased to take Molly’s breath away, no matter how many times she saw it. 

Her husband, the infamously brilliant (and equaling infuriating) William Sherlock Scott Holmes, spent his days in London at 221 B Baker Street solving crimes and conducting experiments with his closest friend and confidant Dr. John H. Watson. Her father Sir Charles Barrett Hooper, a respected and knighted Colonel Physician in Her Majesty’s Royal Army, God rest his soul, had arranged for the marriage with the hearty consent of Lord and Lady Holmes. Her father had been a war hero and his living children were considered to be the most eligible bachelor and bachelorettes when they had been introduced to society. 

Molly let out a sleepy chuckle, remembering the letter her father had sent while she was abroad in America at the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania informing her of the engagement. She was stunned, she’d never met the man, only reading about his many cases and brilliance in newspaper articles. Begrudgingly, she left at the end of her spring semester and returned to England within a fortnight. Two months later they married, she twenty and Sherlock twenty-five, in a small ceremony, much to the displeasure of the paparazzi and gossips in London society. 

With the apathetic blessing of her new husband, Molly returned to America five days after their wedding to complete her education. She attempted to keep in regular correspondence with the Consulting Detective, but found he only wrote short replies back to satiate her desire to know he was doing well and breathing. After two more years of continuous study, Molly returned to England a Doctor. However, she was only allowed to practice in obstetrics at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital as it was a “womanly profession”. She was grateful to be able to put her skill to use anywhere and enjoyed her career, but her heart had always been in the field of pathology. 

In the fourteen months she’d been at Laurelworth, Molly had made a happy life for herself, free from the constraints of social niceties and peerage. She ran the estate like a well-oiled machine and was loved by all in its employ. Every third day she spent at the village surgery looking after the women of the surrounding areas and delivering their babies if on duty at the time. 

Molly’s gaze drifted to the pictures on her bedside table which contained four framed photographs close to her heart. The first in an old, simple frame was a picture of her family when they lived in India before her mother and younger brother Rupert had died of Malaria. In her mind’s eyes, she could still see the fiery red of their hair.

The second photo in a lovely painted frame was of Mrs. Hudson and their dearest friends John and Mary Watson (nee Morstan) on their wedding day. Mary was a nurse midwife she’d met during Molly’s time at St. Bart’s, the two had become instant friends. Sherlock and John had been on a case involving the murder of a heavily pregnant woman who had been under Molly’s care. Despite the rather gruesome circumstances, love had blossomed between John and Mary and within six months, the pair were married. The blonde beauty had visited her at least half a dozen times while their husbands had been out for days on end chasing a case. However, she’d not visited since entering her third trimester at the behest of both John and Molly, not wanting to risk her well-being during this delicate time. Mrs. Hudson, the beloved landlady -not housekeeper- of 221 B Baker Street had visited three times and would have come more often had it not been for her troubling hip. 

The third photograph set in a gilded frame was of Molly and her two living siblings in the parlor of their London townhome 10 days prior to the announcement of her engagement to Sherlock was put in the papers. 

Standing in proper English fashion behind his two seated sisters was her elder brother, Mr. David Charles Hooper, his cocoa-colored hair slicked back and mouth set in a firm line. He was an Oxford educated solicitor and now a founding partner in one of London’s top law firms. At twenty two he married Sarah Jane Turner, the daughter of the Lieutenant Colonel in their father’s regimen. The pair were childhood sweethearts and would have married sooner if David hadn’t been so determined to make something of himself to support Sarah on his own without the financial aid of their parents. Molly loved her sister-in-law and their three children dearly. Their eldest Andrew David was 6 and a half, Margaret Jane (known as Maggie), four, and Eleanor Kaye was now 18 months old. The family had come to visit twice and only two weeks ago Sarah had written they were expecting their fourth in October! 

Her younger sister, Viscountess Camilla Marie Poitier had visited for three months while her husband, the Viscount Raul Poitiers was in Parliament at Paris ardently fighting for the rights of the lowest class. Molly could only roll her eyes and smile indulgently, remembering how sixteen year old Camilla had begged David to let her marry the obscenely handsome, romantic, enlightened, artistic twenty-one year old aristocrat who was in England visiting his mother’s family. Raoul had fallen hopelessly in love with her beautiful golden haired sister at first sight; they spent the evening dancing together as if they were the only two in the ballroom. 

The older siblings, however, were not ignorant to the Frenchman’s reputation for being a serial philanderer. So it came as no surprise that when the offer of marriage was made two weeks later, Molly sought out Mycroft for his opinion on the Viscount’s character. She was disheartened to discover that even the British Government’s sources had reported that while he was a religious man and much loved by the people, fidelity was not in Raul’s nature. David had reluctantly given his consent (after many rounds of tears and threats of elopement) and the two were married within a fortnight in a grand ceremony. The pair had not yet been married a year and were already expecting their first child in August. 

The last picture was of her and Sherlock on their wedding day. Molly’s chest constricted at the impassive expression juxtaposed with the earnest hope so evident on her face as she gazed up at him. Sherlock had only stayed at Laurelworth twice since she’d taken up residence there permanently, the first time was at Easter, the second at Christmas and neither were of his own volition. In the year she spent at Baker Street, the young obstetrician had fallen deeply in love with his genius and (under several layers of sarcasm, impatience and a surely disposition) kindness. The latter had never been directed towards her but she’d witnessed it on several occasions in his interactions with Dr. Watson, Mary (who he’d taken a genuine, friendly shine to), Mycroft’s wife Anthea, and even on occasion Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. 

Molly’s reminiscing was broken when a knock sounded at her door.

“Come-in!” She called, rising from the warmth of her sheets as her ladies maid, Anna, entered with a tea tray in hand. 

“Good Morning, Mistress Holmes. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. I dreamed of lemon cakes and swimming on the moon.” Molly laughed at the amused expression on Anna’s lovely face, her wheat colored hair in a tight bun, the standard black ladies maid dress she wore was adjusted to accommodate the slight swell of her belly. 

“What did you dream of, Anna?”

“Ducklings, ma’am. Odd, I know but I’m told it’s normal to have funny dreams when expecting.” She replied, setting the tray down on the coffee table and helping Molly into her berry colored dressing gown before scurrying off to replenish the fire. 

“No stranger than swimming on the moon, I assure you.” Molly chuckled, settling down on the chair with her leather bound diary, sipping her tea. “Anna, if you so much as put a log on that fire I will force you to take an extra week’s leave fully paid when the baby arrives.”

“Mrs. Holmes, you know I’m perfectly well enough to lift a few logs.” Anna admonished. “I like to earn my keep, ma’am-“

“Anna, you do not have to prove your worth to me.” Molly said earnestly, rising to grasp her hands. “Your place at Laurelworth is set in stone, my dear. Having a baby will not prompt me to eject you from your positon, I assure you.”

Anna’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Yes, Mrs. Holmes…Thank you.”

Molly nodded with a smile. “I think the blue riding habit with the white linen blouse will do today, a bit dressy for me, I know, I’m scheduled to inspect the orchards and ensure none of those confounding beetles have eaten away the peaches, but I’m also to visit the estate’s accountant so I suppose some effort couldn’t hurt.”

“Yes ma’am.” The lady’s maid gave a rueful smile. “What would you like for breakfast this morning?”

“Scrambled eggs, sausage, tomatoes and porridge with cinnamon sugar. I’m positively famished this morning. In the sunroom as well, it’s too lovely a day not to look out at the view.”

“Right away ma’am. I’ll be back in a mo’ to help you dress.” Anna smiled once more and left the room. 

Molly went to the washing bowl and splashed her face, cleaning herself with a soaped wash cloth. Anna returned just as she had finished, helping her into her petty coats, corset and blue riding habit. They had just finished brushing Molly’s thick, sandy auburn locks into a simple ponytail when a knock resounded followed by a series of barks. 

“We’re decent Mrs. Lyle, you can come in!” Molly called. 

First through the door were Molly’s three favorite companions, her beloved pets. Brutus, her 90 pound three year old Great Pyrenees-Shepherd who always wanted to play and somehow always managed to find mud puddles to jump into (frustrating Mrs. Lyle to no end). Freida, her 30 pound seven year old beagle mix that loved to cuddle and worm her way into places she had no business being in (much to the amusement of the groundskeepers). Third was Toby, her 10 year old tortoiseshell Calico cat that spent his days lazing in the sun, ignoring everyone (save for Molly, he always made a point to know her location if she was in the Manor) and chasing mice for cream. 

“Good morning, my loves!” Molly greeted each with several loving belly rubs and affectionate kisses, laughing at their licks on her cheek. “Shall we go and see what wonders Mrs. Honeycutt has made of our breakfast?”

“Mrs. Holmes, I wanted to inform you that Mister H-“ Mrs. Lyle, the head housekeeper, started but Molly was already gone, racing the dogs down the main staircase, greeting various members of the household staff by name and with a warm smile. They in turn greeted her happily and chuckled watching their mistress race her beloved mutts, Toby - aloof as ever- maintained a decent pace behind. 

The glowing smile was still upon her face as the four rounded the corner to the sunroom; laughter echoing in the halls of the house, she entered to see a familiar, yet estranged figure seated at the head of the table. He looked just as he had the last time Molly had seen him, dressed in a finely tailored dark suit under a scarlet dressing gown, sipping coffee as his blue-green eyes looked up from his paper and locked with hers. 

They never ceased to take her breath away. 

“S-Sherlock!” She stuttered confusedly. 

“I-I mean, Mr. Holmes. Welcome back.” 

He smirked, obviously satisfied with his surprise appearance. “Good Morning, Mrs. Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Mr. Holmes know how to make an enterance, no? ;)


	3. The Riddle of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ll just have to read ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we gooooo!

“The impending delivery of John and Mary Watson’s child brings me to Laurelworth. My companion in solving crime is refusing to go on cases during the last trimester of gestation and will not likely return to my aid till six months after the child is born.” Sherlock elaborated between sips of coffee. 

“I am sorry, truly. I’m sure it is a great disappointment as you find London so diverting.” Molly replied with a compassionate smile. “What will Mrs. Hudson be doing with her days now that you aren’t bumbling above her?”

_Such cheek?_ Sherlock inwardly mused. _Perhaps this would be a simpler endeavor than I assumed!_

“I suspect that she’ll enjoy the alone time. I believe her sister will be coming to visit for several weeks as well.”

Molly nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer as she dug into her eggs. As the pair ate in silence, Sherlock Holmes studied his wife. It had been some months since he’d last seen her at Christmas and while she had been beautiful then in her red evening gown amongst the candlelight, she was stunning now. The notion didn’t seem to make rational sense given that Molly was wearing a plain blue riding habit, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail, but his heart still soared at the sight all the same. 

Perhaps it was because he’d not seen his wife in so long that any dose of her was refreshing to his senses. Either way, it did not matter the reason; she was lovely with a glowing tan and freckles across her nose and cheeks, auburn hair lightened by her time in the sun. 

Having been so caught up in his assessment of Molly, he’d not noticed she had already finished her breakfast before him and stood, calling the dogs and Mrs. Lyle. 

“Yes ma’am?” The older woman asked, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun, black uniform crisply ironed. 

“Will you have Gabriel or Jean ready Gypsy and bring her round in a half hour? I’m going to walk with the dogs for a bit.”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a preference for lunch?”

Molly gave an indulgent laugh, resting a reassuring hand on the head house keeper’s shoulder. “Whatever you’ve prepared for the house will be fine. I would ask that it be rather large, after I tour the peach orchards I am to meet with our accountant, Mr. Ivanov, and from there I will head to surgery till about eight o’clock tonight. Naturally, that will not leave much time for dinner.”

“Surely we can wait for you?” Mrs. Lyle insisted. 

“No, no, Mrs. Lyle. Just fix something for Mr. Holmes and be off for the evening, the cooks as well. I’m sure we can survive the night without you.” The brunette winked, pulling on her leather gloves and whistling to the two dogs waiting patiently around her ankles. “Come along then, we must find you pair a stick! Thank you again, Mrs. Lyle!”

“Yes Mrs. Holmes, anything you need!” She smiled. 

Sherlock watched the exchange with rabid fascination, the staff was sure to love their mistress with the kindness and smiles Molly so freely bestowed upon them. Envy coursed through him like he’d never known. His wife had scarcely acknowledged his presence, not even bothering as to inquire after his activities planned out for the day. He had not expected Molly to drop all her responsibilities, however, he would’ve thought she’d have at least attempted to entertain his audience. 

There was a coolness to his wife’s demeanor, while she flashed him sunny smiles and a friendly enough greeting, the Consulting Detective got the impression that she was…indifferent, to his presence here at Laurelworth. Clearly she expected that they would live the next nine months as though neither had existed, much as they has the previous fourteen months. Sherlock did not begrudge Molly her ambivalence, while he had expected ire at his unannounced arrival, the apathetic manner which she regarded him with was somehow worse. 

Sherlock cleared his throat. 

“Mr. Holmes, I beg your pardon-“

“Does Mrs. Holmes often traverse the estate unaccompanied?” He interjected, taking one last gulp of coffee. 

The older woman flushed, in embarrassment or anger, he could not tell. “N-No, sir! I would never allow for it! The shepherd, Herr Schaper, or the game keeper, Mr. MacDonald, or-or one of the farm hands goes with her always!”

“I am not familiar with this Schaper.” Sherlock replied suspiciously. Mercy, did his male bravado know no bounds? “How long has he been in my wife’s employ?”

“Nearly a year, sir.” Mrs. Lyle answered. “When the mistress arrived at Laurelworth, she made a great many changes to the staffing, all of which have been for the better, Mr. Holmes.”

Frowning, he nodded, rising from the table. “I shall be in my study, do not disturb me till Mrs. Holmes has returned for lunch.”

“Of course, sir. Generally, she takes her luncheon in her study or on the deck…”

“Either will do, just inform me of her return immediately.”

* * *

Sherlock had not lied to his wife when he told her of his reasons for returning to Laurelworth, but it had not, strictly speaking, been the entire truth. After a rather intimate conversation with the Molly living in his Mind Palace, a revelation about the potential wonders of being married -happily married anyway- struck the genius like a ton of bricks. 

Could he have perhaps been falling for Molly all along? The year they spent together at Baker Street was difficult for Sherlock to adjust to. He’d been rude and short and dismissive of Molly’s presence in his life. However, there were times Molly was doing absolutely nothing but sitting on the loveseat reading and his heart would race. Once when she’d gone downstairs for tea with Mrs. Hudson and her laughter had filled the entire townhome; Sherlock remembered feeling a pang of guilt that he had not been the one to elicit such joy from his wife. 

So, upon discovering that he had, in fact, been harboring feelings for his spouse much longer than he had realized, Sherlock did what all good Consulting Detectives do when out of their depth. 

Annoy John Watson, friend and confidant. 

_”Sherlock, I do not know if it is wise to just…drop in on Molly.”_

_”Why not? Mary said herself to make a ‘grand romantic gesture’! What could be more ostentatiously sentimental than presenting my person when she least expects it?” He had exclaimed, pacing the floor of 221 B as his man, Billy Wiggins, packed his bags for Laurelworth. “You have been known to stop in unannounced at St. Bartholomew’s Midwifery when Mary was working to bring her pastries or packed lunches. How is this any different?”_

_”Well, for one, Mary doesn’t despise my blooming guts…majority of the time anyway.” John had answered uneasily. “Look, you and Molly parted under horrible circumstances of your own making. She loved you, deeply, and you all but threw it back in her face the moment Irene Adler wandered back into your life.”_

_”So what do you suggest then, John?” Sherlock growled in frustration. “God, this is miserable! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, all I can think about is ‘Molly This’ and ‘Molly That’ and ‘I wonder if Molly is enjoying the early spring weather’…it’s unbearable! Truly, I cannot fathom how I have gone so long not recognizing that I was…I was…”_

_John smiled, hoping against hope that Sherlock was comprehending just what it was he felt for Margaret Louise Holmes._

_”…In love with her.” Sherlock finished with a dumbfounded smile. “B-But my work…it’s never been better! How has love not afflicted my case success rate?”_

_”Ever consider that perhaps it is what has aided in its prosperity? Sherlock, when you are trying to work out a problem with a case, you throw yourself into composing. Maybe you threw yourself into solving crimes the past fourteen months because, subconsciously, it helped you solve the riddle of your love for Molly.”_

_He swallowed nervously. “I’m…I’m scared, John. I’ve made an awful, terrible mess of things.”_

_“Yeah, you have mate.” John rested a comforting arm upon Sherlock’s shoulder. “But it’s not hopeless, the easy part was confirming you love her, now you just have to convince her of your affections.”_

_“Will you…will you help me?” Sherlock’s voice hoarse with emotion. “Please, John?”_

_“Of course, mate. But I’m warning you, it’s not going to be pretty or pleasant at first.”_

_“I am willing to do whatever it takes to win back Molly Holmes’ heart.”_

* * *

Molly was still out touring the orchards, leaving Sherlock to his devices. He’d already arranged his study to his liking, cleaned his smoking pipe and hidden away his valuables in the safe, including the large parcel of unsent letters he’d written to Molly over the last fourteen months.

Now he had one singular task ahead of him: Learn what Molly likes. Deciding that snooping about her room would be a gross invasion of privacy, Sherlock opted for her personal study instead. Surely if the maids were allowed to freely enter and exit, he would be allowed to as well! 

Conveniently, there was a hidden door behind a bookcase that lead to the adjacent room his wife had taken over as her study. Sherlock entered, his senses instantly struck with the overwhelming presence of everything Molly. The room smelled of juniper and peonies, the sofas and love seats plush velvet and carved in delicate, feminine patterns. The roaring fire told him that a servant had not long ago been in here, meaning that time was probably on his side. 

The walls were covered in bookshelves, hundreds of texts filled the space. A human skeleton sat in the corner, dressed in an old morning suit. Sherlock smirked, Molly always did have strangely morbid sense of humor. In another corner sat a large globe, inherited from her father after his death. 

On the walls hung various paintings of her kin or works of art she’d purchased or been gifted. Above the mantel was a portrait of her mother, Abigail, who had died of Malaria in Bombay when Molly was nine. Another painting displayed upon the wall was a birthday gift from Mycroft, a real Hashimoto Gaho. Sherlock frowned, remembering how Anthea had gushed over Molly’s enthusiasm upon receiving it. 

_”She wept she was so touched! Truly it was the best gift we have ever bestowed upon a person. A more deserving recipient there could not have been!”_ Anthea had exclaimed smugly, earning an affectionate eye roll from his older brother.

Two large cathedral windows framed Molly’s desk from behind, the dusty rose curtain’s drawn to bring in as much natural light as possible. The desk contrasted his own greatly, where Sherlock’s had been messy and chaotic, Molly’s was neat and organized. Few sentimental knick-knacks littered the desk, a large map of the grounds took up most of the space. The desk was punctuated by several pen and ink wells, a wax seal stamper with the monogram ‘MLH’, a bouquet of fresh wildflowers in a Chinese vase they had received as a wedding gift was placed on the corner, and a solitary silver picture frame was angled for her to see directly when sitting in her chair. 

Sherlock felt his breath catch, it was a picture of him on their wedding day. Looking down at the thick platinum band on his left hand, it dawned on him that Molly still wore her Welsh gold wedding band. Surely if Molly truly despised him, she would not have set his likeness in such plain view or kept his Grandmama’s ring! 

Hope soared through him, taking one last sweeping glance around Sherlock exited through the secret door and back to his study, it was time to make a plan.

* * *

A light shake on the shoulder brought Sherlock out of his Mind Palace. 

“Mr. Holmes, the Missus has returned for lunch. She’s taken it out on the porch.” Mrs. Lyle said. 

He grinned, leaping from his supine position on the sofa. “Excellent, thank-you, Mrs. Lyle.”

The head house keeper beamed, no doubt pleased she could finally appease the insufferable Master of the house. “You’re very welcome, sir. It is summer chowder in bread bowls and greens today, will that be to your liking?”

“Is that a favorite of Mrs. Holmes?” He asked, removing his dressing gown and straightening his collar. 

“Yes, she enjoys it very much. She wrote the recipe with Mrs. Honeycutt, our cook.”

“Wonderful!” He called back, racing out of the study and down the hall to the main doors, earning curious glances from the passing staff. He slowed upon his arrival to the large front porch overlooking Bass Lake and the mountain forest upon their doorstep. 

As beautiful as the view was, none could compete the sight of Molly. She’d removed the jacket of her riding habit revealing her fitted high collared linen blouse, her beautiful thick hair, now free of its usual ponytail, flowed down to her slender waist. 

“Mr. Holmes, is something the matter?” She questioned curiously. 

“No. No, why would something be the matter?” He sputtered, moving to sit in the chair beside her, a table between the two housing a bowl of peaches and a pitcher of sun tea. 

“Well…it’s just that…I assumed you’d be taking your lunch in your study, if you ate all.” 

“It is true, I do not typically eat lunch. However, given that this is a special dish to you, one you help create no less, I thought I might try it.”

Molly blinked, clearly shocked by his statement. “I-uh, yes. I did. How could have possibly known that?”

Sherlock gave her a wry smirk. “Mrs. Holmes, surely you know me well enough now to know I’m a fairly observant man.”

Molly opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the servant coming out to deliver their lunch. “Thank-you, Gillian, it looks wonderful!”

“Is there anything else I can get you ma’am?” She asked with a friendly smile.

“I’m fine, truly. How is little Gerogie feeling?”

“Oh, much better, Missus! That tonic you gave me did wonders for him. He’s sleeping so much easier now that he’s breathing better. Not that I am getting any sleep, of course. I still stay up at night paranoid that he’s going to stop breathing any second.” Gillian gushed. 

“Well you make sure to get some rest, Gillian! It won’t do him any good to have sick Mummy.” Molly smiled. 

“Yes Missus ‘olmes. Is there anything I can get you, Mr. ‘olmes?”

“No, thank-you, that will be all for now.” Sherlock replied in as warm a tone as he could muster, wanting to impress Molly with his newfound tenderness. 

The pair were silent for a while, eating their lunch in peace as they listened to whippoorwills sing and butterflies flutter around the flowers flanking the front stair leading up to the porch. Workmen walked to and fro, dropping a hello or a wave to Molly and (if only by association) Sherlock. 

_**’This is it, Sherlock! Take your chance to make conversation with Molly. She needs to know you take an interest in her life!’**_ John’s voice cheered him on.

“I trust the orchards were in good condition? The peaches look very appetizing.” 

“Yes, they were.” Molly gave him a perfunctory smile. 

“Mycroft once ate a whole peach cobbler by himself in our younger years.”

“Mmmm.” She hummed between spoonfuls. 

_**’Don’t give up!’** _

“Will you be going on horseback to the village or taking the carriage?” 

“Horseback, did you want to venture down to Northbury? I could arrange for a footman to take you.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve plenty to entertain myself in my study.” Sherlock answered with a small smile, locking their gaze. Molly’s breathing quickened, a becoming flush rising to her cheeks. 

_Oh, she is lovely._ Sherlock thought inwardly. 

“I should be off.” She stood abruptly, leaving her food half finished. “Mr. Ivanov is a patient man but I’d never forgive myself if I was late to surgery.”

“You’ve not finished your meal.” He stood, catching her wrist in his hand. Her brown eyes widening at the voluntary contact. 

“Really, it’s so warm. I don’t have much appetite in this heat.”

“You grew up in India, how is late March in Northern England considered warm to you?” 

“I’ve acclimated.” She huffed uneasily, her hand still in his. 

“Well, at least allow me to help you with your jacket.” Sherlock reluctantly released her hand to fetch the blue riding jacket from the arm of her chair. He held it up, Molly turned her back to him, moving her thick hair to the side. The sight of her exposed neck made his blood thrill. 

“I’d nearly forgotten it, thank-you for reminding me.” She blushed with embarrassment, letting her hair swing loose once she’d slipped her arms through, buttoning the front as she turned to face him. 

Unable to resist the urge, Sherlock rose his hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, folding it behind her ear. She had not slapped his hand away yet, but her posture went stiff as a board at the contact. Not wanting to push his luck, he did not venture further, though the desire to run his thumb across her cheeks was over-whelming to say the least. 

“Thank-you for taking lunch with me. I enjoyed our time together.”

Molly tried, and failed, not to look flabbergasted at his words. 

“Y-You are welcome. Have a good night, Mr. Holmes, I shall see you on the morrow.”

Molly turned to leave just as an idea struck him. 

“Will you be riding home alone tonight?” He blurted out once she was a few paces away. 

“Usually one of the stable boys or footman come and escort me home.” She answered. “Did you have a need for them this evening? I could arrange for two to stay overnight-“

“PerhapsIcouldcomeandfetchyou?”

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite catch that, Sherlock. You spoke so quickly.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “I-I was merely suggesting that…perhaps I could come and fetch you from surgery this evening.”

At first Molly appeared dumbfounded, then her face flushed. This time, not from embarrassment or physical attraction. It was most assuredly in anger. 

“What game are you playing at, Sherlock Holmes?” She snapped, marching up to him and glaring up at him squarely. 

_**Uh, oh...this is not going to end well.** _

“Never, not once, did you walk me home during my time at St. Bartholomew’s. Need I remind you that it’s a large public hospital in the middle of London? Why the sudden concern for my safety when we are in a safe country village and not drenched in the industrial hustle of Town? Is this some sort of social experiment-”

“Molly, please, let me-“

“No! I do not want to hear your excuses! I have been respectful of your solitary lifestyle and will not be made a punching bag for your frustration when my presence becomes too much to bear.” 

“That is not my desire any longer, I wish to-“

“We may be married, but we are not a couple, Sherlock.” Molly continued with a humorless laugh. “We are not even friends! So please, let us just spare the façade. Do not feel pressured to act as a doting husband would. I freed you from that responsibility months ago.”

_Ah, that one stung._ Sherlock inwardly sighed.

“You are my wife, we are married, and therefore we are a couple.” He said in earnest. “I apologize if I was too…forward, for lack of a better term, in my attempts to be close to you. It was not my intention to anger you.”

“I will not be made a fool of in my own home, Sherlock Holmes. You and Mrs. Adler did a fine enough job of that in front of the Ton in London. I’ll not have you speak to me as though I were some human abscess in front of the servants or villagers.” Molly drove on. “You smeared my reputation in London society and made a mockery of our marriage. Do not act as if the last fourteen months of separation change the facts.”

Sherlock inwardly sighed, there would be no winning this argument. 

“I apologize for the inconveniences I have put upon you, believe me it was unconsciously done. Good afternoon, Mrs. Holmes. I hope your time at surgery fares better.” He said before turning to leave. 

He did not look back for fear of seeing hatred burn in her fine dark eyes.

* * *

Sherlock watched as Molly locked the door to the surgery behind her, then walk over to where he held her horse, Gypsy’s reigns. 

“Thank-you for escorting me home this evening, Jean. I know it’s later than I said but we had an emergency case.” Molly said, mounting Gypsy, giving the broodmare an affectionate nuzzle. 

The doctor had not realized something was suspicious till she noted the horse her companion was riding. 

“Jean, I’m not sure Mr. Holmes would approve of you riding Dante-“

The Consulting Detective smirked, watching her eyes widen a fraction as she took him in. 

“Mr. Holmes, what are you doing here?” Molly demanded.

“Escorting you home.” Sherlock commented. “I hope we are not going to argue about this again, I’m already here. No sense in quarreling over it.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Molly nudged Gypsy into walking. “I suppose you are right. But this doesn’t mean I’m speaking to you.”

“Well, that’s rather a shame, I was hoping to hear about your time at surgery.”

Molly gazed at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am still him. However, it is my intention to be the Sherlock Holmes you deserve, Margaret Louise Holmes. The one I should have been all along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please have patience with updating this story in particular, I try to make the chapters quite long and detailed so do not look to hope for weekly updates. Tell me what you think! :) 
> 
> Love,  
> M&M


	4. A House is Not a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the past and hope for the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I am so SORRY I have been away for so long! I am in my final semester of nursing school and it is driving me bonkers crazy with all the crap I have to do just to graduate but I am SO close ya'll, I hope you're happy for me and not dreadfully angry.

It was nearing one o’clock in the morning as Molly sipped a tumbler of Irish whiskey, sitting on the window seat gazing out at the pitch black of the night in her personal chambers. Sleep had evaded her at every turn since returning with Sherlock from surgery, the words he’d said threatened to crack the high walls surrounding her heart, the ones she had resolved to build after the night of their undoing over fourteen months ago. From the beneath the floor of her room, Molly could hear Sherlock wandering the halls, going in and out of his study- she’d nearly forgotten what it was like to live with a man who required four hours of sleep to work at peak efficiency. He had said he wanted to be the man she deserved, a husband. The thought sent thrills through her blood, causing her to take another long drink, the liquor both igniting and calming her mixed emotions.

The young doctor had spent so much time repressing that dreadful night, the night she had discovered her husband truly held no love in his heart for her. The torrent of emotion did little to prevent the memories from flooding back.

* * *

 

_Molly had been surprised to find that her husband had been amenable (adamant, even) to attending a ball, much less the social event of the season! They shared a carriage with John and Mary Watson, both men looked dashing in their suits and cravats. Mary had worn a lovely midnight blue gown, her blonde locks swept into an intricate updo. Molly had worn a deep goldenrod gown, giving her a refreshing splash of color while still maintaining the fall fashion color scheme currently populating London fashion; her hair was also up but in a more relaxed style than Mary’s. The three had chatted amiably as they rode to the location, her husband staring pointedly out the carriage window the entire journey._

_Once they had passed their coats off to the servants and the butler had introduced them, Mary and Molly quickly scurried to find other friends while Sherlock and John had escaped to the bar where Inspector Lestrade was seated alone. The two friends had found Lady Elizabeth Smallwood and Molly’s sister-in-law, Lady Anthea Holmes. The four women chatted amiably for several minutes when a simultaneous hush had befallen the large gathering at the announcement of the event’s latest arrival._

_“Count Van Hussen of Champagne and Mrs. Irene Adler of London.” The Butler proclaimed as the stunning raven haired woman and handsome young count descended the grand staircase. She wore a dress the deepest shade of scarlet matching her painted lips exactly, her décolletage on display but not unfashionably so, onyx gloves ran up her slender arms._

_“The gall of that woman, showing her face around here.” Lady Smallwood murmured._

_“She has not been in England for nearly two years! Why would she return so suddenly and what on earth would possess her to attend a ball where she has knowingly afflicted marriage beds?” Mary cursed quietly._

_“I can think of one reason…” Anthea said in a hushed tone, setting Molly’s heart off in a race._

_The young doctor watched as her husband’s former lover flounced around the room, smiling at each couple who stopped to greet her, laughing huskily at jokes the Count would make. Shifting her gaze to the bar, she saw Sherlock straighten, eyes burning with an emotion she could not quite place. Beside him, both John and Greg were whispering things, shooting remorsefully glances Molly’s way. As the music started, signaling the time for dancing had begun, she could scarcely breathe._

_“Molly, do not fret, I am sure there is nothing for you to be worried of.” Mary said reassuringly, holding her hand tightly. “Come, let’s find some dashing bachelors in need of a partner to show off their ballroom dancing skills! Heaven knows our husbands are of no use in that department!”_

_“Mr. Holmes loves to dance.” Molly offered a weak smile, but followed her friend nonetheless. It did not take long for two young men to offer their arms and escort them onto the dance floor. It was hard to stay sour when there was so much jovial laughter and innocent joking between all the persons on the dancefloor. Molly had danced with three men before deciding refreshments would be in order._

_“Thank you kindly for the dance, Doctor Holmes.” The young man bowed, bussing her hand with a friendly grin. “It is true what everyone says, you are the epitome of grace and good humor.”_

_“Thank you, Doctor Weber and please, call me Molly. We are neighbors after all!” She laughed. “Now off with you! I see several young ladies vying for a chance to dance with the dashing country physician. Emily Westmoreland, in the green dress, is a darling.”_

_Before he could respond, Mary and Anthea whisked her away to the punch bowl where they all but inhaled their beverages. Taking the chance to survey the room, Molly attempted to spot her husband, who always stood out from the crowd. Her heart froze, seeing him with the one person she hoped to never encounter. They were speaking quietly, closely, not even a foot between them. Mrs. Adler shot him a sardonic smile, he returned with a rueful expression of his own- eyes all but dancing over her classic features._

_“..lly…Molly...Molly!” John’s voice at her side brought her back to reality, tearing her brown eyes to meet his blue ones. “I was not…had I known that…I would have never encouraged his attendance if….”_

_Molly plastered a fake smile upon her face. “It is nothing to worry yourself over, Doctor Watson. You should-“_

_Her response was interrupted by the chiming of crystal, signaling someone was attempting to command the attention of the room. Looking to the musicians, the master of ceremony stood at the forefront all smiles and excitement. “If it would please the room, our host, His Grace the Duke of Appledore, Charles Augustus Magnussen, would like to ask the esteemed detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes to play a piece for all to hear.”_

_A chorus of applause and cheers of encouragement rang through the ballroom, at some point, Mrs. Adler had moved to stand a few paces in front of Molly and her friends, the Count looking like he’d eaten a sour lemon. Masking his shock, Sherlock set down his champagne flute and walked to the musician’s area where a violin and bow, much like the one he owned, was gingerly placed in his ungloved hands. Feeling her body relax a bit, Molly smiled at her husband’s form, knowing he was probably going to play his favorite composition by Bach._

_Poised to play, Sherlock’s sea-glass colored eyes locked in her direction as an intense, seductive tune escaped the strings. It stirred a sense of melancholia and betrayal deep within in Molly, her chest tightened. It was an original composition she’d heard at Baker’s street on more than one occasion, much softer, played in the late hours of the night when he could not sleep or a case would render him dumbfounded. Looking ahead of her, the brunette saw the woman in scarlet a few paces ahead flash a knowing smile over her shoulder. All breath and rational thought left her as Molly realized what the song was._

_It was her. It was Irene Adler._

_The song soon ended and Molly set down her glass._

_“Molly, wait-“ Greg said over the loud applause, attempting to grasp her arm, but she would not have it. John, Anthea and Mary all called for her to come back but almost as if in a dreadfully suspenseful dream, Molly navigated the crowd till she was next to Sherlock. He was handing off the violin and muttering something to the musicians._

_“Mr. Holmes, a word, please?” Molly asked, hoping her smiling façade was not slipping._

_Sherlock gave a stiff nod and a measured expression. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”_

_The couple made their way to the balcony, away from prying ears. The frigid early November night did nothing to tame the heat of Molly’s lividity. “What is Irene Adler doing here?”_

_“She’s a member of society life, Molly. Surely that has not escaped your notice.”_

_“Do not patronize me, Sherlock Holmes!” That’s when it dawned on her. “Oh my God…you knew she was going to be here. That’s why you did not complain when the invitation came in the post- why you insisted upon attending, in fact.”_

_It wasn’t a question._

_“That song…you composed it for her. I saw…I saw the expression on your face. Your eyes never left her.”_

_“Mrs. Holmes-“_

_“Do you deny it?” She hissed with a disdain she did not know existed within her. “Do you deny that you played a song in front of all our peers written for your former mistress and came with the express hope that she would be here?”_

_“No, I do not deny it. I accompanied you with the hopes that Mrs. Adler would be present and we could perhaps rekindle our relationship.” As in all things, Sherlock was direct and brutal in his response._

_Despite herself and her desire to appear strong in his eyes, a strangled gasp escaped Molly. Her hand clutched her chest, tears threatened to fall._

_“I…I love you, Mr. Holmes.” She whispered. “Does that…does that mean nothing to you?”_

_“Your affections have never meant anything to me.” He replied coldly. “I told you when we became betrothed that I would not make you, or society for that matter, aware of any marital indiscretions I may commit. I also warned you to that romantic inclinations were not something I was capable of. Both promises I have kept.”_

_Molly gulped back her tears, sobs threatening to wrack her body._

_The shattering ache in her chest she knew all too well; a breaking heart._

_“It will never be enough for you, will it, Mr. Holmes? My affection, my devotion to you? For I am not beautiful, mysterious and elusive- no that is Mrs. Adler’s forte. I accepted long ago that you would never share my feelings but at what cost, Sherlock, does her love come? I ask for nothing, nothing in return yet you give your attentions so freely to that woman who would no sooner trade your life for her next payday!” Molly exclaimed, hot tears slid down her reddened cheeks and yet her voice did not shake._

_“What do you wish to hear me say, Mrs. Holmes, that I have not said afore?” Sherlock snapped. “I am no longer physically involved with The Woman, she poses no threat to our marriage bed- not that it would matter regardless. As far as London society is concerned we have consummated our vows afore that imaginary deity you call God and remain childless. Is this not what you wanted? To be free of the constraints a true marriage would impose upon your medical career? If anything you should be thanking me!”_

_Too applaud at his words to respond in kind, she turned to leave. “I-I will…take my leave.”_

_“Molly.” Sherlock caught her arm. “It will appear most-“_

_“I do not care how it is perceived!” She snapped, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “Considering our sham marriage is the laughing stock of London regardless, what does it matter if I leave early? I am sure Doctor Watson or your brother will be more than happy to drop you at Baker Street. Perhaps Mrs. Adler could oblige?”_

_Sherlock remained stoic, saying nothing in response._

_Without another word, Molly hastened towards the exit, leaving the ball just as it had reached its prime._

* * *

 

Sherlock sighed, running his hands through his dark curls. The ride home had not gone as he had planned, at all. Molly remained stoically silent the entire way and upon entering the manor had immediately raced up the stair to her chambers despite his pleas for her to listen. The slamming of her door hit him like a ton of bricks and accepting defeat for the day, he entered his study, pouring three fingers of the finest brandy. The spirit had done nothing to ease the tension in his muscles or dull the pain at knowing just how severely he’d hurt Molly. It burned to know that he was the cause of their despair. Resting his hand against the mantel, the Consulting Detective glared into the grate’s roaring fire, thinking back to the night she had left Baker Street.

* * *

 

_The entire carriage ride home, John and Mary did nothing but berate him for his behavior at Magnussen’s soirée. Admittedly, Sherlock knew that he should have gone after his wife, but seeing no point in offering false comforts, he chose instead to linger till the Watson’s were ready to depart four hours later. It’d been dreadfully dull, Greg and Anthea had looked ready to throttle him and his brother had all but disappeared. Finally, the carriage came to a stop (though the Watson’s were still keen on extracting some iota of guilt from him and did not cease their heated scolding). In the carriage behind them were his brother and sister-in-law, joined by Inspector Lestrade. The company exited the carriage, just as the ladies were being helped out by their respective spouses, a frantic Mrs. Hudson came running out on to Baker Street._

_“Oh, Sherlock thank goodness you’re home!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, clutching his arm in desperation._

_“What’s wrong, Mrs. Hudson?” John asked concernedly, exchanging curious glances with the rest of their party._

_“It’s Molly, dear! She-She’s gone!”_

_“Wait, Molly’s gone?” Mary interjected worriedly. “Gone where?”_

_“I haven’t the slightest!”_

_“Did she say why?” Anthea added anxiously, gripping her husband’s arm in fear. Mycroft remained completely blasé, his expression gave no indication of concern or relief._

_“No, not a thing! Came in she did, eyes red, face all puffy like she’d been crying, packed a bag and rounded up the animals! I stood there the entire time but she never once said a word!” Mrs. Hudson was near crying now._

_“Just like that, without any notice?” The Detective Inspector inquired, brow furrowing in confusion._

_“I tried to convince her to stay, at least till you lot returned but she only continued to pack!”_

_Sherlock had already pushed through and flew up the stair, two at a time, bursting through to his flat. Everything looked to be in complete order, not a coater out of place._

_But the light had gone out. The room was cold. Standing in the middle of the living space, the reality of what had transpired settled on his shoulders like lead and he knew, without having to check, he knew._

_Behind him, Sherlock registered that everyone had followed him up in a loud race up the stair and began searching the flat for any sign of where Molly had gone. Save only Mycroft, who had casually stuffed a pipe and lit a match, releasing a slow exhale._

_“How long ago did she leave, Mrs. Hudson? We may still have time to rally constables and go after her afore-“_

_“There will be no need for that, Inspector Lestrade, though I do appreciate your gallantry, as I’m sure Molly would.” The British Government interrupted, striding over to the large windows looking out onto the street. “I supplied Molly with trustworthy escorts to her destination.”_

_“What?” Sherlock blinked out of his stupor. “Where? Where is she?”_

_“I’m sure I have not the faintest idea, though rest assured she will be safe.” Holmes the elder responded, flashing his little brother an imperceptibly small, patronizing smile._

_“Explain yourself at once, husband!” Anthea demanded, the skirt of her indigo dress rustling as she stood in front of her husband, glaring him down._

_“Mrs. Holmes came to me at the ball, asked for a carriage and safe passage out of London for an indefinite Holiday and I merely supplied what was asked of me.” He responded as if it were the simplest concept in the world, before sliding his narrowed glare to Sherlock. “I found it understandable, given the events of this evening, that Molly would need time away from the ton to recover. One can only imagine the…despair she felt upon learning that her husband could never truly love her. I admit to feeling a certain amount of responsibility in her sorrow, being the one who brokered the marriage in order to recoup the social strain your affair with Mrs. Adler had upon the family name. I knowingly subjected her to a life with a man who would never love anyone more than himself…it is a regret I will live with forever.”_

_A wave of emotion washed over Sherlock at his brother’s confession, looking around the room at those he considered friends, all he found was bitterness and disappointment, resentment and fury, sadness and remorse upon their expressions._

_“You will keep us abreast of any new information on Molly’s location and well-being as it becomes known to you, won’t you, Lord Holmes?” Mary asked, wiping a tear from her cheek, eyes hard._

_“If she so wishes, yes.” He replied. “For now, I think it best we all retire for the evening.”_

_Placing a hand on the small of his wife’s waist, Mycroft ushered a sniffling Anthea out of the flat and down the stair, Mary threw Sherlock one last withering glare over her shoulder as she exited, a despondent Greg Lestrade in tow._

_“Well, mate, looks like you got what you wanted after all.” John laughed humorlessly as he made to exit the flat. “You are truly and utterly alone.”_

_His legs moving of their own volition, looking to the yellow chair beside the loveseat that had previously been his wife’s reading nook. Forgoing his own chair, Sherlock sat there with his hands steepled under his chin, bathed in the darkness and silence that was now his life at 221 B._

* * *

 

_Upon her first ever arrival, Molly did not leave her room at Laurelworth for twelve days. Her newly assigned lady’s maid, Anna, had all but spoon fed the young doctor when she refused to eat, bathed her when the diaphoretic sweating of her panic attacks seeped through her linen chemises, brushed her hair when the will it took to leave her bed would not come. It was the darkest time in Molly’s life since her mother and brother had died and during the agonizing hours her mistress was not asleep, Anna never left her side._

_In the fortnight she’d been away from Baker Street, Molly did not once cry, she was resolute in this promise to herself. Molly would no longer give Sherlock **bloody** Holmes the satisfaction of her derisions._

_The sound of a carriage roused the brunette from her trance and despite herself, hope bloomed that it was him. Stains littered the front of her chemise, not seeing the point in changing (or caring), she donned her camel colored dressing gown she opened the door, rushing the stairs sent her head spinning. Having not eaten properly in days, her energy was not up to such activity._

_“Oh, Molls.” Mary whispered, skirts swirling as she rushed to her side._

_Molly collapsed against the finely carved wood of the grand staircase upon seeing her friend._

_“Breathe, dear. Breathe, that’s it.”_

_Molly hadn’t realized she was heaving sobs until Mary was wiping tears from her ruddy cheeks._

_“H-He d-d-does…not…” She gasped. “I-It’s her. T-The Woman…I-It’s always b-been her for h-him.”_

_Mary whispered out gentle hums, listening as her dearest friend broke down, rocking her gently._

_“I…I c-an’t do it…any l-longer…I-I-I will not s-stand in the w-way of his…ha-happiness. I…I love him en-enough t-to let him g-go.”_

_For the next week, Mary and Anna nursed Molly through her grief, even employing sleeping aids so that she could rest without the fitful dreams of blue-green eyes and scarlet lips that haunted her. The next week, Mary had employed tough love, forcing Molly to eat every bite of food her stomach could handle and taking her out for walks in the crisp autumn air, acquainting her with the staff of her new home. By the third week of Mary’s stay, Molly was able to employ small uses of time- reading and reviewing the estate’s accounts mostly. She was getting out of bed without prodding, organizing her room the way she liked, and showing signs of acceptance for her new life at Laurelworth without Sherlock._

_“I really…there are not words enough to thank-you, Mary.” Tears brimmed Molly’s brown eyes as she hugged her departing friend closely. “You-“_

_“Hush now, I am merely returning the favor for the care you showed me when John and I were separated.” Mary smiled lovingly._

_“Will you…Will you deliver these letters for me?” Molly asked. “There’s one for Doctor Watson, Lord Holmes, Lady Anthea, my older brother David, Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade. They all deserve an explanation as to why their letters have gone unanswered and I thought it would be best if done in person, but obviously I…I-”_

_“Of course.” She nodded in understanding. “Take care of yourself, love. I expect at least one letter a week and I shall return in the spring but if you need me sooner-“_

_“I know, Mary. I know you will. Please do not worry.” Molly forced levity into her voice, plastered a faux smile on her thin face. “After all…home is what you make of it. A chair is still a chair, even if there’s no one sitting there.”_

* * *

 

 

Molly was well into her third glass of Irish whiskey when a knock at her door sounded.

“Go away, Sherlock.”

“Molly. Molly, please. Open the door.”

“I wish to be left alone, husband, surely you of all people can understand the desire for solitude.” It was not a real question and if he were wise, he’d not answer it.

“I do not wish to fight, but please, allow me to…to look upon your face. I must see you are alright for myself.”

She snorted indignantly, downing the rest of the amber liquid and setting the glass on the windowsill. She marched over to the door, wrenching it open to see her husband leaning against the door jamb, his sea green eyes swimming with sorrow.

“Here I am.” She gestured to her still completely clothed form. The only difference was that her thick auburn hair was down and hanging about her shoulders, falling to her waist in waves.

“You have not changed out of your day wear?” He asked curiously. He’d removed his cravat and frock coat, leaving his neck exposed against his white linen shirt. Christ, even disheveled he looked beautiful.

“A bit difficult to unlace a corset by one’s self.” She replied derisively, swaying on her feet as she removed her half boots. “What do you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“Nothing.” He murmured. “I simply…I needed to see you. I could not sleep knowing your anger with me.”

“You seem to have done perfectly fine over the last several months.” She answered, moving to the vanity to remove her pearl earrings, she left his grandmama’s ring on her finger, he noted with pleasure it’d been recently polished. “If you-- w-what are you doing?”

Molly froze, feeling sturdy hands unhook the front of her riding habit.

“Helping you undress.” He whispered, eyes focused upon the task at hand. Molly gulped, feeling her stomach spiral into flutters and whatever insult she had on her lips die in an instant. Once Sherlock had made quick work of her jacket, he pushed it gently from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Before she could protest, he one by one undid the buttons of her white blouse revealing her smooth tanned skin and the swell of her breast from the corset beneath. Though he itched to touch her, he remained focused on the task at hand. He turned her around and unbuttoned the top of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground, gingerly taking her hand so that she could step out of her skirts. She was left in only a corset, chemise and stockings.

Taking a hard swallow, Sherlock’s fingers could not help but trace the skin between her shoulder blades, admiring the flush that colored her cheeks. As he undid the first of the corset’s laces, he could not resist the urge to place a kiss on the gentle slope of her shoulder. His deft fingers continued to undo the laces, inhaling her sweet scent of juniper and honey. Once the corset had fallen to the floor, Sherlock dropped to his knees and ran his large calloused hands up the length of her calf to the tops of her thighs where the smooth silk stockings met creamy skin, her breath hitched as he gingerly rolled the stockings down, his fingers leaving gooseflesh in their wake. After giving her other leg the same treatment, Molly stood before him in only a chemise, drenched in moonlight and candlelight. He could just make out the lines of her thin, lithe curves through white material. She rested her hands upon his firm chest and attempted to steady her breathing.

“I am still angry with you.” Her voice was horse with emotion. Anger? Lust? Dare he hope…Love?

“I know.” He whispered, letting his hands trace her figure lightly. “I am sorry. It was not my intention to upset you…though I seem to be preternaturally skilled at it.”

“Will you…” She began.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. It is a silly thought-”

“Tell me, please.” He whispered earnestly, tilting her chin so that he could look deep into her honey brown eyes.

“Will you put me to bed? The room is spinning and I think if I were to attempt walking I’d land flat on my face.”

He smirked but did not laugh, easily scooping her bridal style into his arms, relishing in the feel of her body against him, the way she played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. Begrudgingly, he laid her beneath the blankets of her featherbed.

“Sherlock…stay.” She murmured, her eyes heavy with sleep. “Stay with me.”

Not one to argue, he removed his shoes and waistcoat, sliding in beside Molly and wrapping her in his arms, pulling her back flush against his chest. God she felt amazing. Soft and warm. Like a greedy vine he wrapped himself around her, cursing the thin layers of clothing between them. He kissed Molly’s hair, listing to her breaths even out as sleep took over her senses.

“I love you, Mrs. Holmes. Do not give up on me.” He whispered, feeling himself drift off. “Do not give up on us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I will be able to update again but I hope this is enough to get you through until...whenever that is. Most likely graduation...ehh hahah. SOrry. Don't hate me please.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!
> 
> Love, 
> 
> M&M


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